Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

By Sunnybunny

Destroying the phone helped to allow Heather a sense of security but it was fleeting at best.

With one ring, a single chorus of a Katy Perry hit, a ticking clock had been fixed over her head and time was not on her side. Richard had tracked her this far and even without anything further to trace, he was closing in faster than she could ever have imagined. He knew the state, had deduced she was hiding out in the middle of the desert, only a matter of time before he stumbled upon the right road atlas that would point him in the direction of a little hamlet in the middle of the huge empty expanse of wasteland. Suddenly, all of the most attractive features of Oasis were working against Heather: the isolated location with the nearest town hours away, the lack of law enforcement. Limited places to stay drew the noose tighter around her throat.

She paced the length of her room, hands flexing and relaxing at her side as she tried to concoct a plan of action. Find the money was priority one, naturally, but with no new leads to follow, a backup was necessary. For the first time since realizing the money was missing, Heather had to resolve herself to the idea of leaving it behind. The notion made her tremble with rage at the individual who had stolen it, so angry that she had to scream as loud and hard as she could into a pillow more than once until it was all out and she was hoarse with the effort. To leave it behind meant there would be harder times ahead. With no money to afford a new identity, Heather would always be looking over her shoulder, watching and waiting for one of Richard’s… ‘business partners’ to come knocking at her door. Her living conditions would leave much to be desired, meaning she would be holed up in a shady neighborhood, and who would possibly notice if one little, stupid white girl went missing?

She upended her bags onto the bed and scattered loose change and crumpled dollar bills, the last of the money she had brought from the old life. Adding in the cash she had earned from the diner only added up to a couple hundred bucks. By her loose calculations and if she skimped, it might be enough to get out to California. Forget food and a place to stay once she got there, the desert would swallow the last of her finances up. The new identity, the life she had promised herself before stealing away in the middle of the night, would evaporate, withering and dying before her eyes. Never in her life had she felt as helpless.

Heather impulsively reached beneath her pillows for Angie’s panties and cradled them to her chest, Linus with his security blanket. She held them while she walked, passing them from hand to hand like an indecisive pitcher. She raised them to her nose again for what must have been the one hundredth time, becoming as familiar with the fragrance of Angie’s sex as she was her own, wondering if she should care how much comfort such a naughty item was providing her.

They took her mind inevitably back to the Angie problem, and she wondered how the girl would react to the news of Heather’s imminent departure. Disappointment was easy to imagine, but what had she expected? Heather had made no secret of her intention to leave as soon as possible. Angie would just have to understand. She was certainly mature enough to know that sometimes life just is not fair. It takes your mother right from underneath your nose, turns your father into an alcoholic and every so often, just for an added kick in the teeth, it steals your crushes too.

Then she wondered if she should even tell Angie, but that was dismissed just as quickly as it had come. It would not be fair, Heather decided, to treat the girl that way. The truth — Heather owed her that much. Angie was a good kid. Troubled and misguided, but a good kid, forced to grow up too fast in a big, screwed up world. Her heart certainly went out to the poor child and maybe, in another time, in another life… under different circumstances…

She dropped back into her spot at the edge of the bed, rolling the underwear into a tight ball between her knees. Knowing that she was leaving soon was making entertaining the idea of her and Angie exploring… whatever there was between them so much easier. It was all fantasy, after all. Pictures in her head, and what was so wrong with it if she kept it just in pictures?

Heather had dated around in high school and college, favoring neither sex over the other and had always identified as bisexual with a strong leaning toward men. She conjured up those old dates with her exes and tried to transplant Angie into the role of her crushes, but it was all wrong. She did not fit into meeting up outside a movie theater on a rainy day. She was all wrong for crowding up onto the bar after an unbelievably loud Counting Crows concert for a few rounds of beer.

Nothing worked, even in the confines of her imagination where literally anything was possible. Heather could not reconcile the monumental age gap between them. She and Angie would never be able to scrunch up together beneath a beach umbrella and share a smoothie without arousing suspicion. She could never lean in and kiss Angie without first making sure that nobody was looking their way. Heather could not invite any friends or family to meet her new girlfriend. Their entire relationship would be a carefully guarded secret with dire consequences if it were ever discovered until Angie was much older, and that opened even more problems down the road. Their age difference would grow more pronounced as time went on.

They were standing on either side of a fifteen-year chasm. When Heather turned 40, she would be ‘over the hill’ with Angie only 25 and wrapping up college. When she turned 60, the girl would be 45, middle-aged, while her girlfriend had just plain AGED. Then as she grew even older? Would Angie cart her around in a wheel chair during their last remaining years together before checking Heather into a retirement center?

Nothing in the scenario gelled and at last she was able to put the thoughts away, along with the child’s panties, hiding it all beneath the stack of pillows on her bed.

She would need a weapon of some kind. A gun would be ideal, but where to get one? She supposed she could ask Walter, but that would lead to the inevitable question of why Heather felt she would ever need home protection in Oasis. The poor doofus would probably insist that if anyone did her harm, he would come running to her rescue. She did not doubt for a second he would, but one old motel manager against the likes of men Richard would be sending to collect her…

As for the other acquaintances she had made around town, she could only think of one that would answer her question without a full scale inquisition.

All roads lead to Angie, she thought.

The child usually came into the diner around noon, riding into town with her father and helping him open the garage. Mama Maven was always ready with a piece of pie set out on a platter with a little flag jutting out of the wedge reading ‘Reserved for Angela.’ Heather made it a point to probe the girl for information the very next time she saw her and yes, make concrete her intentions to leave Oasis as soon as humanly possible. She would spare the girl the worst of the details. No use in dragging her into the quagmire of Heather’s mistakes. Perhaps Angie will see that it’s all for the best.

A girl can hope anyway…

Heather did not sleep that night. She tossed and turned until the sheets were a tangle around her legs. Her mind and heart racing, imagination in overdrive, and every rustle of wind or bouncing tumbleweed was an army of assassins coming to burst into her bedroom with guns blazing. How many times had she roused herself from near sleep to check the latches on the door?

She turned the television on, hoping the noise would be enough of a distraction to lull her to sleep. When that failed, she took a warm shower. Lay down again. Found Angie’s panties beneath her pillow again and tried masturbating, all in vain.

When six a.m. came, she rolled into work looking haggard and immediately set herself upon the coffee pot.

The morning dragged and more than once she found herself dozing at her post behind the counter. To keep herself from toppling over and causing an insurance nightmare, Heather snatched up her coffee cup and wandered over to the busted-up juke box in the corner. She reached out and traced a finger on the glass that housed the record collection and it came away coated in grey fluff.

“She’s a real beauty, huh?”

Mama Maven was leaning out of the kitchen, elbows propped up on the counter, looking into the diner. A streak of flower bisected her forehead where she had wiped at sweat.

“Sure is. What’s wrong with it?”

Maven shrugged. “I ain’t a mechanic. It’s been busted for years now and old Travis Lawrence — you know, Angie’s daddy? He’s been in a few times to try and get her up and runnin’ again. Keeps going on about needing new parts for this and that, so I order ’em and there they sit.” She pointed to a jumble of metal contraptions laid out in a neat row atop an oily rag. “He’ll come in and tinker around with it from time to time still, but this place ain’t been a proper sock hop in too long.” She smiled, spying how intensely Heather was eyeing the parts. “Think you can fix her up for me? There’s a bonus in your pay if you do!”

It was a welcome distraction.

How long had it been since Heather had gotten her hands dirty? She used to love getting under the hood or crawl around underneath the Mustang. Heather could spend hours in the garage without even realizing it, completely lost in her wonderland of gears and motor oil. She would emerge from the rabbit hole with her coveralls covered in grease and dirt from the garage floor to find that the sun had long since set, but that hardly mattered. She was at home there, with wrench and sockets in hand, at one with her machines.

The juke box was a far cry from her car or even the small appliances she was used to repairing, but to the man’s credit, Angie’s father had managed to either fix the damage or get it far enough along that it worked as a sort of road map for Heather to follow.

It wasn’t perfect. The diner floor was a poor substitute for her garage, Angie’s dad’s tools were in the poorest condition, and Heather preferred music blasting as loud and fast as it could manage, but enough of that old magic returned. Her fingers seemed to work independently of her, fastening and tightening the components into place as if she had been repairing juke boxes her entire life. For the first time in ages, she was beginning to feel like her old self again. The person who paced around a crummy motel room in the middle of the night was a stranger. Some alien pod that had overtaken Heather upon arrival. Her nerves settled and her heart slowed to a comfortable tempo, and at last her mind was free from distraction. Richard’s threat was still very much on her mind but no longer at the forefront. She relocated unhelpful thoughts to a dark corner where they could hiss and spit and grumble, leaving her undisturbed for a short time.

Patrons drifted in and out of the diner, but it was abundantly clear that Heather was too distracted and completely oblivious to their arrival. Mama Maven raised no objection, however, and continued to run both sides of the house as she had done for close to sixty years. The sight was a queer one to be sure and raised many a question. Not that the new waitress was fixing the long-thought-lost juke box, but because someone was bothering to try at all!

All attempts to steal Heather’s attention away from the job were woefully ignored. They did not bear her any ill will, simply chuckled and shook their heads, quietly wishing they could lose themselves in something they enjoyed so.

When Heather finally stood up and rubbed the feeling back into her knees, the sun was setting. The mountains were on fire again, the heat from those flames warming the interior of the diner. She found Mama Maven leaning heavily over the register, elbows folded and smiling over at Heather in her grandmotherly way. Her smile was always full of sincere warmth that never failed to reach her eyes. They were the kindest Heather had ever seen.

“I think she’s all ready to go.” Heather offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what, honey? Working during your shift? If Chubby Checker plays in this diner again, whatever you think needs to be forgiven is forgave!” Maven tossed something at Heather.

She caught it in mid-air, turned her palm over to reveal the shining face of a quarter. Heather had never been more pleased to see General George Washington’s profile before and hastily crammed the coin into the player. The buttons clicked, once for the row, twice for the record, a third time for the track. A mechanical arm wiped forward and plucked the black discus from the row and settled it in the middle of the display.

A tense moment followed where the speaker crackled and hissed with age, and Heather imagined the coils and wires beginning to heat up until they were red hot and threatening to blow apart like ruptured veins. Then the hush was shattered by Chubby Checker’s baritone vocals, commanding that they do the twist.

Mama Maven let out a cry of elation and hustled around the counter, arms thrown open to the heavens. “You did it, child! You did it! Praise the Lord, Heather, you fixed it!”

Before Heather could object, Maven took her by the arm and pulled her to the middle of the floor. Despite her advanced years, the woman could still twist like a girl a quarter of her age! Heather broke up into laughter and joined in the best she could, swishing her hips into tight descent to the floor to work out the stiffness in her joints, both singing along to the lyrics. They danced the twist until Heather was out of breath, but Maven was far from done. With grace that defied her appearance, she had not even broken a sweat.

“Forgive me, girl, but I was beginning to think that damn thing would never be fixed, that I’d live out my final days without ever hearing that old juke play again, and here you come in and just…” She trailed off, looking to be so full of joy she would burst apart from all the love in her heart. She took Heather by the hands and stopped dancing long enough to thank her again and again with tears shining in her crow’s feet. “I’ll never be able to repay you for this. There ain’t no amount of money that could match this feeling. Do you know what I mean, girl? You are a blessed angel!”

“Do you mind if I cut in?”

They turned as one toward the door and found Angie peeking her head through, the rest of her half in and half out. The sunset filtering in through from behind the girl gave her a scarlet radiance, and she was dazzling in that moment. So ethereal, like a heavenly body come to Earth, too beautiful to look at fully without risking blindness. The light accented her attire, lit it ablaze, and with the empty expanse of desert just behind her…

“Well, if it isn’t our beautiful desert rose! Come on in, Angie, you are just in time for the celebration!” She was waving the girl in with great windmill motions of her hands. “Heather got the old juke box playing again!”

“I can see that!” Angie had to shout over the music to be heard.

Maven drew the child onto the impromptu dance floor and swung her arms about, coaxing a jig from her, and soon they were all three dancing together. It was a clumsy sort of party. They frequently bumped into one another and fell out of sync with the beat from all the laughter, but that hardly mattered. The records continued to spin until the sun had vanished completely and the tranquil evenings that had cursed Oasis for too many years was broken.

“This calls for something special,” Maven announced suddenly. “My famous homemade malt milk shakes!”

Angie hopped up and down on the spot, pumping her arms like a cheerleader. “YES!”

“You two just sit tight and I’ll be back with the best ice cream you’ve ever had!” She hustled out of the room, light as air on her feet, and vanished behind the swinging door.

Alone together again.

The two of them exchanged a wary look, wondering what the other was thinking but finding out exactly that in just a glance. They only had a moment before Maven would return.

Angie rushed into her arms and Heather scooped her up at once. Their lips met a heartbeat later.

All roads lead to Angie…

“Heather I missed you so much!” Angie whispered each word between small kisses. “I wanted to come see you so bad, just so bad, but I knew there was just so much –!”

Heather silenced her with a longer kiss, forcing the girls mouth to slow until the only noise was the faint murmur of their embrace. Their time was running out, and when Heather drew the girl away, it felt like a knife being pulled from her heart. She smiled through the pain, coaxing one from Angie.

“I’ve had time to think,” Heather explained, standing up and straightening her shirt. She was still a little flushed, could feel her cheeks burning, but little could be done about that now. She had so much to say but so very little time to say it. She opted for an abridged version. “There is so much going on with me, Angie… things you could not possibly begin to understand. The only thing that does make sense to me right now is you. How I feel about you is the most un-fucked up thing I’m dealing with right now, and yeah, I know how fucked up that must sound. What I’m getting at is –”

“Here they are!” Mama pushed through the swinging double doors with her back, turning slowly with a large tray between her hands and three tall glasses balanced there, piled high with ice cream and topped with silver spoons. “Who wants ice cream?!”

Continue on to Chapter 10